Scream
by Syberian Quest
Summary: You can't make me.


_Scream._

No.

_Scream._

You can't make me.

_**Scream.**_

I know what you're up to.

_Do it._

It's not going to work.

_It always does._

What kind of fool do you take me for?

_The worst kind._

Your insults are pitiable. Do you honestly believe this pathetic little ploy will work? That you can break me? _No one _breaks me. I always win.

_Not this time._

Oh, how petrifying. I'm positively quivering in fear.

Your attempts are terribly deplorable. I've already defeated you.

_Yet here I am._

You should be dead.

_But I'm not. _

Are you?

_What difference does it make?_

If you're dead, then I can't kill you.

_Subtle, as always. But you can't kill me. I'd dare you to try._

I did it once.

_One too many times. _

I'm not the fool you take me for. I haven't changed.

_So I see. But throwing your sandal at me won't do much in your favour._

I have impeccable aim. Anything I throw is a weapon.

_You may hit a bullseye, but you will always miss._

We'll see.

_You're facing the wrong direction. I'm over here._

You.

_Miss me?_

Ganging up on me is futile. Numbers make no difference.

_Oh, really?_

If you think even for a moment that those green eyes will convince me of _any_-

_Her eyes might not have any effect on you, but I sincerely hope that mine will. _

Vikram? You're in Rio.

_Not anymore._

W-what are you doing here?

_Couldn't you tell? I've grown dreadfully tired of Portuguese. And besides, I missed you._

You humour me.

_For once, I tell the truth. I missed you. By a hare. Any sooner and this would have all been mine._

Get over it, Vikram. You weaseled your way out; they never touched you.

_Oh, Isabel. You know me better than that._

_Da. The only thing a Kabra loves more than power is revenge._

Any more surprises?

_Possibly. Depends on what you call a "surprise."_

I don't know you.

_Think harder. Does South Africa ring a bell?_

The security guard.

_She's smarter than she looks._

_That's why I married her. It was the only mistake I ever made._

Enough. I am tired of these games. Leave. _Now_.

_No can do, princess. Not until we're good and ready._

I told you to _leav_-

_Oh, Mum. Do put the sandal down. It draws unnecessary attention to that hideous jumpsuit._

At least it's not from the discount rack.

_Please. This is the latest style. You've been locked up so long you wouldn't know fashion if it hit you in the face. I could wear a potato sack, and it would still look better than that._

Ungrateful wretch. I should have disowned you at birth.

_We emancipated ourselves. _

Details. And where is that uncouth older brother of yours? I keep waiting for him to come running to your defense.

_He won't be coming around this time. He's on the outside, enjoying a front-row seat, just waiting to see you crack._

I won't be giving him the pleasure.

_Nyet. That is not what I think._

Stay back. All of you.

_There are plenty more of us, love. You're terribly outnumbered._

What do you want from me?

_I think you know._

No. I won't do it. You can't make me.

_Care to bet on that?_

Why are you even here? I never knew you.

_That's what makes it so tragic. One year away from retirement, three grandchildren… Maybe if you had taken the time to – _

_It wouldn't have made a difference. Believe me. Two small children weren't enough. _

Those brats put me here.

_Because of what you did._

Are you actually trying to conjure up my conscience?

_Isabel, Isabel. You've got it all wrong. We are your conscience. _

I don't have one.

_You do now._

It doesn't matter. I still won't break.

_We are your deepest fears. _

I don't have any.

_We can see through your lies._

Don't come any closer.

_It's the only way. _

If you take one more step, Arthur, I will… I will…

_Will what?_

You can't break me. It's not going to work.

_It always works._

_*o*o*o*_

A one-way window is reality's boundary. Two men in black suits stand at its edge, silently witnessing the darkness of the other side. The younger one turns his face from the scene.

"What is she on?"

The older man is paunchy but carries an air of quiet authority, one that is worn as a badge of honour. He holds a brown briefcase to his right and switches it to his other side, allowing him to push up his black spectacles with his free hand while prolonging the agony. "Nothing at the moment. They wanted you to see the extent of her… her…"

"Insanity?"

"Not quite the term they used, but close enough."

The younger man risks a peek through the window. "How long has this been going on?"

Sagging spectacles are again pushed up the paunchy man's nose. "An exact date has not been determined. Doctors say it started approximately a month ago, two at the most."

An eyebrow rises. "That long?"

The older man sniffs. "Hardly. Her psychologists say they've never seen anyone deteriorate to her extreme so quickly."

The man glares. "Then why wasn't I contacted sooner?"

A shrug follows. "Diagnosis, study, treatment – it all takes some time." He gives his companion a knowing glance. "And I've been led to believe that you haven't remained very close throughout the years…"

The younger man turns and stares out the window. "Who does she see?"

The spectacled man follows his companion's lead, gazing steadily through the window. "It's difficult to say; she rarely gives names. They've managed to pinpoint a select few, however." He remains fixated on what lies beyond the glass barrier but still feels the youth's eyes boring into his skull.

"She mentioned Vikram and Arthur."

He turns away from the glass. "Yes. We were lucky."

"Who else?"

"They're always different. One believes there is a Russian, another heard her mention something about Jamaica – we can only glean bits and pieces of information at a time."

"And us?"

"You heard her."

Amber eyes stare at the ground. "Does she mention us often?"

"Fairly."

"And… our father?"

"Generally."

The eyes meet dark blue ones. "What about _them_?"

"Who?"

"Hope and Arthur."

"Always."

The lock of their gaze dissipates as Ian once again retreats to the window. The other man waits a few precarious moments before turning and taking several strides towards a three-legged table in the nearest corner. He swings his briefcase on its surface and begins unclasping its clips. The feel of a steely stare on his retreating figure informs him that he has successfully captivated his audience's attention.

"This wasn't the only reason I called you here today, Ian."

"Oh?"

"I've been working on an appeal."

Footsteps approach. "What kind?"

"Judicial."

"For her?"

"Yes."

He lets the message settle before attempting to scope the full extent of the young Kabra's reaction. To his surprise, an undecipherable mask veils all emotions. Isabel's son remains every bit as poised and indifferent as she when in her right mind.

"On what grounds?" Ian asks slowly.

"Insanity defense."

"I see."

Encouraged, the man continues. "I believe I will easily be able to pick up where her last lawyer left off. With more than a dozen reputable doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists willing to give their word that she is, under any country's jurisdiction, mentally incompetent, we will have an overwhelming case to present before any jury."

"It was more than ten years ago."

He looks up, meeting Ian's resolute gaze. "Yes, but insanity doesn't occur overnight, especially in circumstances like hers."

"She was as sane then as she's ever been."

"You can't prove that."

Amber eyes flash. "You can't prove that she wasn't."

The lawyer shrugs. "That is up to the jury to decide."

"So why am I here?"

He pushes up his spectacles. "With Vikram out of the country, you are one of two remaining relatives, her only kin of legal age."

"And?"

"And under the influence of medication, when it manages to make any difference, she would refuse to use the insanity defense. She is completely unaware of her condition. But if her next of kin were to-"

"I will not give you my consent."

The lawyer grimaces inwardly. "No? This is your mother we are talking about."

"Not according to either of us."

"Come now. Be reasonable. If being taken out of federal prison and put into a mental institution-"

"What difference would it make? She is just as safe in here as anywhere else, and the world is much safer from her."

"A federal prison is not the same as a mental institution."

"You simply want her money."

The lawyer pulls back, reevaluating his strategy. Things are not going as he had hoped. Turning to his briefcase, he pulls out several documents, white and crisp and still smelling of fresh ink.

"These might be of interest to you."

Amber eyes peruse the paper still in the lawyer's hands.

"You're blackmailing me."

The man carefully tucks the papers away, lowering the briefcase's lid and clicking it shut. He runs his stubby fingers through his thinning brown hair. "I am merely acting in the best interests of my client."

"By threatening to destroy my business?"

"If you are unwilling to help your own flesh and blood, I don't see what should keep me from releasing certain documents to the general public."

Slowly, Ian reaches inside his Armani jacket and pulls out a tape recorder.

It is on.

With one click, the machine's wheels grind to a halt, but it is too late. The blackmailed has become the blackmailer.

Ian replaces the evidence in his coat pocket, his cold stare never once leaving the lawyer's face.

"I think we're done here."

He turns abruptly and begins walking towards the empty hallway with its lone fluorescent bulb. The man watches resentfully, his embittered glare shooting daggers at both the youth and his obsolete piece of machinery. A sudden thought, however, causes the corners of the man's mouth to lift in a small half-smile.

"You do realize-" The footsteps slow. "- that schizophrenia is hereditary?"

A pause. "No. It won't be."

Angry shouts suddenly begin to waft through the window, momentarily distracting them, as they once again manage to catch a glimpse of a world only a reality away from theirs. The sound gives way to inaudible whispers, both desperate and pleading.

The echo of footsteps once again resonates against the concrete walls, leaving the paunchy man staring after Ian's retreating figure as ominous whispers continue to swirl around them both.

A blood-curdling scream rattles the window and penetrates the hallway.

And Kabra keeps walking.


End file.
